Not much inspiration behind this one. I came home from Family Home Evening, realized I hadn't eaten anything since 2:00, nor had I written a poem yet.
Waffle
The waffle so warm
Between my fingers
Burns the skin of my teeth.
I am standing in the kitchen,
Watching myself eat,
Wishing today was tomorrow.
Eventually, my bed doth call.
And when it does,
I'll solemnly give it heed.
Away to never-slumber-land
I readily will fly.
Thinking if only, if only,
And always asking why.
2009-03-09
Writing Journal (Day 12)
Again, I was inspired by the physical act (and auditory sound) of dropping that little plastic cup into the metal tray during Sacrament meeting. A few months ago, I'm pretty sure I at least jotted some lines down, if not formed an entire poem that Lucy is holding hostage. (Or is in a spiral notebook/journal gone MIA at some point in time.)
Keep in mind, I'm considering this particular poem underdeveloped and unfinished. I still feel that it needs some rhythm and a direction that leads it to an ending.
Sins
There go my sins
Into the cup,
And then into the tray.
I willingly take upon me
The name which clears my own.
My dirtiness is thrown away
Without a second thought.
Keep in mind, I'm considering this particular poem underdeveloped and unfinished. I still feel that it needs some rhythm and a direction that leads it to an ending.
Sins
There go my sins
Into the cup,
And then into the tray.
I willingly take upon me
The name which clears my own.
My dirtiness is thrown away
Without a second thought.
Writing Journal (Day 10)
Friday, I conjured up a plan involving entering an apartment and removing thousands of dollars worth of merchandise. That plan involved a ransom note. Which I took it upon myself to turn into a ransom poem (with a clever title, I might add). I wish I had had the time to turn it into couplets because I'm really not a fan of the rhyme scheme I used.
Ransom Poem
Take a look around
And soon I'm sure you'll find
Your books cannont be found.
Please be warned: don't call the cops;
Your books are safe and sound,
Sitting in boxes once kept by the mops.
Don't you worry,
And don't you fret,
This was not done in a hurry.
Your books are being cared for
Just off the cul-de-sac
At (I'm not posting the address).
To see them once more,
You'll have to drive
To a house with a (color) door.
If you don't know who we are by now,
You don't deserve to know,
And we'll be trading you in for a pet cow.
____________________________
The story behind this is that, after I had constructed the library and realized it was missing such a large part of it, I had told SH that someday she would come home and all of her books would be gone. Well, when she told me on Friday that she wouldn't be back from out of town until Sunday afternoon before work, the light bulb went off. So I gathered a couple of accompliases and we became felon booknappers.
Which I hope explains why I skipped Day 11 of the challenge....
Ransom Poem
Take a look around
And soon I'm sure you'll find
Your books cannont be found.
Please be warned: don't call the cops;
Your books are safe and sound,
Sitting in boxes once kept by the mops.
Don't you worry,
And don't you fret,
This was not done in a hurry.
Your books are being cared for
Just off the cul-de-sac
At (I'm not posting the address).
To see them once more,
You'll have to drive
To a house with a (color) door.
If you don't know who we are by now,
You don't deserve to know,
And we'll be trading you in for a pet cow.
____________________________
The story behind this is that, after I had constructed the library and realized it was missing such a large part of it, I had told SH that someday she would come home and all of her books would be gone. Well, when she told me on Friday that she wouldn't be back from out of town until Sunday afternoon before work, the light bulb went off. So I gathered a couple of accompliases and we became felon booknappers.
Which I hope explains why I skipped Day 11 of the challenge....
2009-03-06
Reading Journal
Yaaaay!! I finally finished Twelve Ordinary Men and started The Bluest Eye. I forgot that I read it in college, so it's also a reread. And I was surprised to find I finished it (there are my markings on the last page), since I think I read it winter term freshman year, for one of Jim's classes. And I thought the only assignments I finished reading for him were the ones I got paid to do.
That's right, kids, I got paid to not only read, but I got paid to do my homework! I was doing workstudy for him (copying handouts, that sort of thing) and he wanted to make a handout for our Chekov assignments. See, classic Russian authors like to give their characters a name and then 5 or 6 pet names that may or may not be closely related to their given name. Jim asked me to make a handout with the alternate names for each of the stories.
But that's all tangental.
Final thoughts on Twelve Ordinary Men:
The third quarter of the book was the driest. The chapter on Judas Iscariot was interesting at first, but it got repetitive. I don't think this was MacArthur's intention, but his words really only invoked my pity for Judas I. Yeah, what the guy did was tragic, but necessary. I found myself paralleling him to Eve. But what I really think got my heart to bleed for J.I. was all the bashing he got from MacArthur. Just because the guy's a historical figure, doesn't mean you can judge his heart any more than you can judge your neighbor's.
That's right, kids, I got paid to not only read, but I got paid to do my homework! I was doing workstudy for him (copying handouts, that sort of thing) and he wanted to make a handout for our Chekov assignments. See, classic Russian authors like to give their characters a name and then 5 or 6 pet names that may or may not be closely related to their given name. Jim asked me to make a handout with the alternate names for each of the stories.
But that's all tangental.
Final thoughts on Twelve Ordinary Men:
The third quarter of the book was the driest. The chapter on Judas Iscariot was interesting at first, but it got repetitive. I don't think this was MacArthur's intention, but his words really only invoked my pity for Judas I. Yeah, what the guy did was tragic, but necessary. I found myself paralleling him to Eve. But what I really think got my heart to bleed for J.I. was all the bashing he got from MacArthur. Just because the guy's a historical figure, doesn't mean you can judge his heart any more than you can judge your neighbor's.
On page 215, MacArthur quotes Charles H. Spurgeon trying to reconcile free will/agency with foreordination. And I've come to this conclusion: God knows us so well, He knows what we will choose. Our choices can please or disappoint God, but they will never surprise Him.
p. 230
"Would that Judas were the only hypocrite who ever betrayed the Lord, but that is not so."
It always makes me sad when people who (seem to) have a close relationship with the Godhead (or any member thereof) sever ties. Nearly paralyzing.
From the first few pages of the Bluest Eye...
Toni Morrison has the most captivating descriptions of settings.
p. 6 (Just before the "Autumn" section.)
"But since why is difficult to handle, one must take refuge in how."
p. 23
"I learned much later to worship her, just as I learned to delight in cleanliness, knowing, even as I learned, that the change was adjustment without improvement."
I like that idea: change being adjustment without improvement.
Writing Journal (Day Nine)
In the same way that a Law & Order episode can be "ripped straight from the headlines" in the promo and they still show the "any resemblance to any real persons, events, etc. are unintentional" (or however their legal jargon phrases it), this poem has been influenced by events, emotions and experiences actually in my life, but any resemblance to any one in particular is purely coincidental. Believe me as you will.
That being said, I won't reveal what, precisely, from my past influenced the writing of this poem. Partly because they're very personal. But also because I'm not entirely sure. Some stanzas were from something that happened to me, some were from something that happened to someone I knew, some are purely fictional.
This one has been the hardest for me to title thus far.
__________________________________________
Freight Train
The trouble that you've been in
Is more than I can share.
I know that you've cried through your dark
For someone there to care.
With their own ears full of steam,
They simply could not hear you.
Not until it was far too late,
Did someone know they knew.
It was a lonely train whistle
Coming round the bend.
At merely seventeen years old,
You were ready for it to end.
But someone else had switched the tracks
And you were losing steam.
That lovely face appeared to you
In the middle of a dream.
She didn't try to stop you;
No way she ever could.
Instead she simply let you coast
While living as she should.
Sooner or later,
The time would come, she knew,
When you would finally see the light
And find yourself renewed.
That being said, I won't reveal what, precisely, from my past influenced the writing of this poem. Partly because they're very personal. But also because I'm not entirely sure. Some stanzas were from something that happened to me, some were from something that happened to someone I knew, some are purely fictional.
This one has been the hardest for me to title thus far.
__________________________________________
Freight Train
The trouble that you've been in
Is more than I can share.
I know that you've cried through your dark
For someone there to care.
With their own ears full of steam,
They simply could not hear you.
Not until it was far too late,
Did someone know they knew.
It was a lonely train whistle
Coming round the bend.
At merely seventeen years old,
You were ready for it to end.
But someone else had switched the tracks
And you were losing steam.
That lovely face appeared to you
In the middle of a dream.
She didn't try to stop you;
No way she ever could.
Instead she simply let you coast
While living as she should.
Sooner or later,
The time would come, she knew,
When you would finally see the light
And find yourself renewed.
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